


The Prompt Affair or Luck Be a Lady Tonight

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of fun with prompts from MFU100.  Seventeen prompts - 1700 words.</p><p>Prompt 70. Opera, 71. Vienna 73. Laser 74. Doll 75. Basement <br/>76. Platter 77. Copier 78. Analog 79. Remote 80. Farm <br/>81. Goat 82. Lamp 83. Hotel 84. Bell 85. Bolt <br/>86. Necklace 87. Pants </p><p>Just why is Mr. Solo so lucky?  My thanks to Sparky955 for her super fast clean up.  Any missed boo-boos are mine!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prompt Affair or Luck Be a Lady Tonight

 

I’m one of those sorts that no one ever pays attention to. I wander from place to place. There are some people who welcome me more than others and are happy with the little time I spent with them. There are some people who actively court me, yet lack the ability to be satisfied when I am with them. They want more, they need more, and they are never ever satisfied. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is? These are the people I tend to avoid as much as possible. Desperation will move my heart; wanton greed and sheer laziness, not as much.

As you can guess, when I show up people usually sing my praise, even though they tend to look right through me and many don’t even know that I that I was actually there.

When I’m in a favorable mood, they love me. When I’m not, they call me terrible names; it doesn’t bother me. After a few years, I developed a thick skin. I am fickle, pragmatic at times, problematic, most of the time and you can never, ever, count on me to be there when you want me there. I much prefer to be there when you need me.

However, there are a few to whom I am drawn to as opera is drawn to Paris or waltzes to Vienna. Napoleon Solo is one of them. He is my definition of a hero. He is brave, cunning, charming, intelligent, yet flawed, almost fatally. You see, Mr. Solo is drawn to danger and it is often only my intervention that keeps him from falling prey to it.

An example – we arrived at the party together, me on his arm as usual. He nodded sweetly and was gone, wandering the room, scrutinizing the party goers. To some it might look as if he was lost and searching for someone. I knew better. He wasn’t looking for a person as much as he was looking for danger, in all of it subtle shapes. He found her without much effort, especially after I pointed her out to him with a gentle tickle to his neck.

He shuddered and then adjusted his tux jacket. Putting a smile upon his lips and without as much as the wink of an eye, he slipped her away from her elderly partner and led her to the dance floor before this porcelain doll could even take a breath.

“Do I even know you, sir?” She had a gentle Southern drawl that brought a smile to his lips and I tried not to be jealous. I knew who she was and why he was at her side, even if he didn’t.

“No, I don’t think you do, but I need you to believe me when I say your life is in danger.”

She laughed at the suggestion. That’s when I saw the small pinpoint of red light appear on Napoleon’s back. With a small gesture of my hand, the young lady stumbled and jerked Napoleon, I mean, Mr. Solo downward. She screamed as she fell and took him with her. Immediately a crowd surrounded them, offering help and support.

Then I spotted Mr. Kuryakin on the sidelines. Unlike Mr. Solo, he was dressed in a gray jumpsuit and lurking in the shadows. He had an angry set to his jaw and he was quickly moving in the direction that the laser light had come. He slipped through the basement door without anyone seeing and I knew everything would come to rights. I trusted his skills.

I don’t visit Mr. Kuryakin as much as I could, but he was in the steady company of my cousin.   I waved as she followed him down those stairs. I knew she took very good care of him, even if he didn’t always appreciate her sense of humor. Fate is like that, sometimes. You don’t appreciate it until you look back in retrospect.

In a few moments, Mr. Kuryakin was back and he had the smug look of a man prepared to deliver the head of his enemy on a silver platter to the king… or at least, his Emperor, Napoleon. There was a secret smile shared between them and Mr. Kuryakin slipped away back into the background, as ignored as a cheap lamp or a dusty plant stuck in the corner of a dingy lobby. He had the ability to make people look right through him, helpful in his line of work.

I knew he still had a mission to fulfill and, in the disguise of a copier repair man, he was able to freely move through the upper rooms of the Embassy. I wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but I knew he would find it. When he got into that frame of mind, he is an analog of the perfect hunting machine. He would not stop or rest until he was successful or dead or possibly both. As I say, Fate is a bit of an odd bird.

That sounds a bit harsh, and I assure you that I had more confidence in Mr. Kuryakin’s ability to take care of himself than anyone I’d ever known, even my delightful Mr. Solo. Like his partner, he was very capable of carrying out his job, but he had a sense of fair play and compassion that didn’t always hinder the actions of Mr. Kuryakin. Mr. Kuryakin carried out his duty to the letter, but Mr. Solo, he took time to contemplate and weigh his actions. Do you see why I favor him? He is so honorable.

“I really need to return to my escort.” The pretty young thing was still trying to set herself to rights. The fall had been a blow to her ego and she hadn’t begun to remotely recover from the embarrassment. I knew that I would have to make it right with her, but later. Not now. Tonight she had bigger fish to fry.

Nap… Mr. Solo smiled sweetly. “No, why would you want to go back to that old goat when you have me at arm’s length?”

“That… old goat, as you so aptly address him, is my father.” She tried to look angry, but the twinkle in her eye belied her actions. “Granted he’s not much to look at, but there is more to life than mere looks.”

“Ah… I… ah.”

“And you are right. He is an old goat.” Her laugh was as bright as a bell. “You see his grandfather worked the land, in a way. And my father clings to what he sees as his farming roots, although he has never blistered his hand or felt sweat upon his brow. He is also extremely protective of me and sees ulterior motives in any man who looks at me. Much like the way you are looking at me now.”

“And how would that be?”

“You feel a need to protect me because I am clumsy. Perhaps you see me as a giddy girl child or helpless young thing who needs rescuing. In fact, I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“I believe that you are and I shall be quick to reassure him that I am a gentleman to the core. My interest in you is strictly in two-four time.” He offered her his arm. “I will return you to him. And what is your father’s name?”

“Benedict.”

“As in Arnold?”

“Fredrick Balsworth Ignatius the third.   As in the ruling king of Mudulvia,” she murmured as they drew closer.

“That’s why it rang a bell. It must be exciting to think of one day being Queen of your country.”

“Me?” She laughed and shook her head. “No, I do not want to rule. I would rather have a country that thinks for itself. I want a country that is strong and confident. I suspect the winds of change are upon my country and it would be an honor to stand aside and watch my countrymen take flight.”

“You speak like a gracious and benevolent leader. If your country thrives, I suspect it will be due to you at its helm.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solo. I hope so. There are many obstacles blocking my way, the Old Order of things. Yet I am determined for I am a Twentieth Century woman.”

Napoleon was gracious and flattering and the old King never saw the bolt of lightning that was my beloved Mr. Solo. Before she left, he helped her adjust her necklace and she never knew he’d slipped a small bug into the filigree of the clasp. He was a charming and delightful man, but Mr. Solo was as single-minded, cautious, and efficient at stalking his prey as Mr. Kuryakin was. He could charm the pants off of anyone he set his mind to. I knew also that night the old King would fall and his country would taste the elixir of freedom for the first time in centuries. Mr. Solo knew none of this. He was just being his usual cautious self.

She was safe, Mr. Solo was safe and Mr. Kuryakin was without mercy.  He re-emerged from the shadows and nodded sharply. He’d been successful and I knew he would now bolt into the night and be gone. I could see the success in his eyes and saw my cousin skipping along behind him. She had been well served that night.

The young lady left on the arm of her escort, the King, and Mr. Solo was stuck taking me home. I saved his life and, while he was thankful, it never went any further than that. Did I pout and get angry? No, that’s not how I was raised. I would rather have his appreciation than his affection. Did I yell and threaten to leave him? Why should I? He would never insult me by trying to stake a claim. After all, he knows class when he sees it… or doesn’t. For even to Napoleon, I am invisible, but he knows I’m always here for him. He treats me reverently and with all due respect as befitting my lot in his life.

How could he do less? Even as Luck, I am always a Lady.


End file.
